Of Tales To Be Told
by SomeDamn Author
Summary: A set of one-shots based on Naruto, exploring various themes, metaphorical and psychological.
1. The Prisoner And The Warden

**Hello there! Here's a collection of One-Shots I've come up with that center around Naruto. Using the characters as a template, I've played around with a few ideas, and as you can see the end result is up here. Do leave your thoughts behind.**

 **Some of these stories I'd already published as separate One-shots, but I thought it'd be better to have them as one single story, since they all share something in common.**

* * *

 **The Prisoner And The Warden**

* * *

One couldn't exist without the other. He knew it, even as his fingers dug into the sides of his face, the nails piercing his flesh, drawing blood. He knew that the sound of grinding teeth, the silent scream of the broken soul that wasn't his own.

And yet, in many ways, it was. It was his own blood that he could taste, and his own blood he could feel trickling down the sides of his face.

It was his own voice he could hear whispering in the back of his head, something unintelligible, yet, all the same, it was there, silently melding into the darkness, leading a quiet dance with Insanity.

The Jailor knew he needed to preserve their relationship, the bond that united two individuals broken beyond repair, twisted beyond recognition. Without it, there was no reality; there was no life for the Warden without his Prisoner.

He would walk, sliding his long fingers, once so elegant, so strong, so capable, across those rusted bars separating them. He could feel the coarseness of the metal. Once, long ago, those bars had been clean, had been strong, solid. He'd been so, so sure that it would protect him, keep him away from the insane inmate.

Ah, how foolish. How so naïve he'd been.

The darkness inhabiting the cell, once so repulsive, now seemed to embrace him, its arms reaching out, caressing his flesh. He could see nothing inside the cell. He didn't need to. He could tell, by the soft whisper, by the way it screamed, by the way it seemed to lick it's lips as a torn, lifeless smile played across it's maw, that it was still there, and it would be there, even as he would rot away, prisoner to the entity he was guarding.

He sat there quietly, listening, as it told him, his black cloak fluttering with the non-existent wind in the empty place. There was darkness everywhere, so dark you couldn't see your own body, and yet, for all he knew, it might've been so bright that he couldn't bear to open his eyes, lest he be blinded.

To him, it didn't matter. Black and white, after all, were the same things. One showed overflowing presence, while the other showed terrifying emptiness. Both of them were, in a way, pure, unblemished and untouched.

And true to their nature, Black could never have existed without White, and White wouldn't be what it was without Black.

He sat there, smiling as it laughed, insanity coating its rasp. He frowned sympathetically as it screamed, agony evident in its tenor. He sat there, lifeless, broken, staring at it, as it's claws dug into its own heart, fingers clawing out its own eyes, drinking its own blood, eating its own excrement.

And it was always staring back.

The King and The Horse.

* * *

He didn't know how he'd changed, he didn't know when, where.

All he knew was that it had taken one question, one fraction of a second, to feel that doubt, to be genuinely crushed by that question. And that one question had destroyed him entirely.

Oh, how he wished he could go back, and tell himself, never, never ask that question again, and lead a perfect life. How he wished...how he wished...

But it would be to no avail, of course. Nothing would change now. Brooding about it wouldn't make a difference.

* * *

The one doubt that had wrecked him...

When he stared up, he didn't know what he could see. Was it the blue, cloudless sky, stretching on for miles and miles and miles, open to the entire world?

Or was it the cold, gray ceiling of a cage, inhibiting the madness inside him, restricting the insanity, reducing it to a mere scream, a gentle whisper?

Was he inside the Cage, or was he outside it?

When he ran his fingers across the rusted bars, was he delighting in his Prisoner's slavery, or was he agonizing over his own? When he looked at the window, was he inside it, or outside?

Was he the Warden, or was he The Prisoner?

Which one was it? Which one...which one... which one... which one... which one... which one... which one... which one... which one... which one... which one... which one... which one...

And as his tears dropped onto the spotless floor, his laughter seemed to echo off the walls of the non-existent room. His fingers dug into his skin, his hands pulling out strand after strand of hair, his mouth wide open, his eyes full of wild, torrid lifelessness.

Was he laughing, or was he hearing his own scream?

* * *

 _ **I do not suffer from insanity. I enjoy every minute of it.**_

 **\- Edgar Allan Poe**


	2. The Color Of Life

_Color._

 _So rich, so vibrant. He inhaled, trying to drink it all in, etching the image in his mind, never, ever wanting to let go of the sight._

 _Her eyes were the most incredible shade of lavender, her hair, a rich dark blue. Her lips wore a light shade of pink, forming a soft smile as she watched him._

 _The artist shivered._

* * *

There were always only two sides to a coin. His world lay painted with naught but two shades of black and white. His eyes darted over the landscape, carelessly absorbing the details.

Uchiha Sasuke's hands moved effortlessly over the canvas. There was no color in his world. Just…the cold, dark purity of black and white. His palette contained no paints of different colors, no vibrant shades. Just…just a pencil, as the incredibly skillful fingers that wielded it moved with an easy dexterity over the white sheet.

The sky was starting to take on a lighter tone, but the man had already decided that his art would depict dawn, with its pregnant promise of a new beginning. Dawn was a beautiful timeframe, one that housed a sense of heady excitement, and yet characterized the calm of a night just passed.

 _His_ dawn contained none of that. It was just what an eye without a mind would see; the breathtaking scenery in front of him, translated onto sheet in a colorless depiction.

He stood back, observing his handiwork silently. His eyebrows creased…something…something was-

He looked, from his painting to the scene in front of him. There was no difference, both seemed quite devoid of life. And then, he spied her, standing behind the tree.

She stepped out, acknowledging her detection. Uchiha Sasuke's eyes locked onto hers.

 _White_ … _and yet…what shade are they, really?_

She had a warm smile on her face, and for a heart-stopping second, Sasuke thought it stirred something in him. Ignoring his inner voice, he stood as a show of politeness.

She spoke first. She told him that she never knew he was an artist. Her voice seemed coated with innocent surprise. She moved closer to him, observing his painting. Uchiha Sasuke sensed an unfamiliar clenching in his stomach as her colorless figure lit up with joy on seeing his rendition.

He couldn't understand it…after all, it was a lifeless piece of art drawn by a man who could only see two colors. Why would a person appreciate such a travesty?

She looked back at him, and then at the painting, and then back at him. He decided, at last, to speak.

They spoke of many things. The man found words he never thought he would utter slip out of his mouth, as he told her all about him, about his world, about the quiet lack of life in his vision. He watched her in awe as she listened quietly, nodding, smiling, frowning even, at many points.

She laughed when he finished. She spoke, then, of _her_ world, of its joys and sorrows, of its tears of happiness, its cries of sadness, the pain of loss and elation of victory of many, many things.

The odd, uncomfortable sensation that rose from Uchiha Sasuke's heart grew steadily, as her soft voice sang the song of hope. And then, it exploded.

Their kiss was passionate, for the man it was a painful influx of emotion even as their lips danced. He held her tightly, embracing every pore of her being. And when he let go, he finally opened his eyes.

Color.

So rich, so vibrant. He inhaled, trying to drink it all in, etching the image in his mind, never, ever wanting to let go of the sight.

Her eyes were the most incredible shade of lavender, her hair, a rich dark blue. Her lips wore a light shade of pink, forming a soft smile as she watched him.

The artist shivered.

He clutched his heart suddenly, trying to stem the pain. An unknown sensation rose in his throat, and as her hands rose to touch his face once more, he couldn't hold it in any longer.

 _More more more more more MORE MORE_ _ **MORE MORE I NEED IT I NEEEEED IT-**_

Not a scream emanated from the girl's lips as his hands passed clean through her midriff. He didn't pay attention to the blood as it seeped out from the wound. Instead, his jaw was quivering, feasting upon the sight of his own making. Slowly…ever so slowly, his thin fingers rose up to her eyes, caressing her cheek as only a lover would.

It was slow, but for the man it was a sense of uncontrollable pleasure as he took her eyes.

' _I need it, I need it, I need it,'_

It was with a crude, animalistic longing that he ripped his own eyes off too. Carefully, he placed the girl's eyes in place of his own, not being able to wait any longer.

' _If…if my own eyes were capable of showing me such color, what would her eyes-'_

He stood still as his new eyes roved over the scenery. The bright green grass with dew illuminated by the rising sun. The cold, blue mountains far ahead, hugged by clouds. The brilliant vermillion of the sky as it stretched above him, host to the dawn.

His knees broke as they crashed on the floor. He clawed at his eyes in despair, and yet, not a single tear would grace Uchiha Sasuke's cheeks as he moaned. The colors assaulted him overthrowing all his senses, sending him into a spiraling fury of madness.

 _Never had he seen a more lifeless sight._


	3. Of Dancing With Dreams

**DISCLAIMER : I DO NOT OWN NARUTO. CREDIT GOES TO KISHIMOTO-SENSEI FOR A WONDERFUL MANGA.**

* * *

 **Have you ever courted your dreams, unwilling to break away from them?**

 **And the poem is mine, written during an extremely boring lecture on C Programming.**

* * *

 _ **Faded lights, silence looms,**_

 _ **the curtains fall,**_

 _ **the act is done,**_

 _ **the floor shall know no more joy tonight.**_

 _ **No more claps, empty room,**_

 _ **the final call,**_

 _ **smiles are won,**_

 _ **the floor knows nothing but darkness tonight.**_

A soft shadow is cast upon the crystal floor as blue gradually turns to black…

There is no cheer, no smiles, no laughter to be heard. Everyone have left and the curtains have fallen….

And as the orchestra play the final chorus, the lights fade, flicker one final time before disappearing completely. The darkness envelopes us, but unmindful, we continue.

 _ **And soft, we hear a quiet song,**_

 _ **as she and I, we dance along,**_

 _ **in darkness, where does no one see,**_

 _ **step and turn, she smiles at me,**_

 _ **And gaze I do upon her eyes,**_

 _ **her gentle words, her quiet smile,**_

 _ **her fingers trace along my face,**_

 _ **lilt and swing, the music plays.**_

My right hand placed gently around her waist, our left hands clasped together, hers around my neck, we lead a silent, serene and beautiful dance around the cold, hard crystal floor…

Our eyes locked together in eternal embrace, emerald on cerulean, an alluring smile plays on her pretty face, and her pink hair shakes ever so slightly as we dance in the darkness. I hold on to her, never wanting to let go, never wanting to break away from our position. I clasp her hand steadily.

The pace picks up, and we smile at each other, both of us complying with the change. Outwardly, I show no change in emotions, but inwardly, my heart races.

Is the dance coming to an end? Has our time together come to a close?

The music reaches the crescendo, and I scream in fear, in terror…I feel so afraid of letting her go, I simply can't bear the thought…

The last melodies of the song meld into the still air, and cease to exist. I hear claps resounding from all directions, filling my ears, and yet, I feel no joy.

I look to the crowd, expecting to see the people. Instead, to my amazement, all the seats are empty.

 _ **Faded lights, yet a lone man sits,**_

 _ **watches on,**_

 _ **elegant smile,**_

 _ **surveying with the mildest of intrigue.**_

 _ **Wry smile across his lips,**_

 _ **watches on,**_

 _ **sips his drink,**_

 _ **applauds as the music reaches peak.**_

All?

All but one.

One man sits amongst the emptiness. Dressed impeccably, a broad smile adorns his handsomely carved face. His jet-black hair compliments his obsidian eyes.

Instead of feeling grateful for his applause, I dread it.

His smile, I'm not able to place it.

Maybe it was knowing, maybe it was approving, maybe it was….sardonic?

Filled with uncertainty, my thoughts are cruelly cut short when it all suddenly comes to an end.

Just like that, it ended. No grandeur, no great conclusion. Instead, it all just faded away.

 _ **In sudden silence she and I stand,**_

 _ **with racing heart I clasp her hand,**_

 _ **Has our time ended this fast?**_

 _ **Has our dance now ceased to last?**_

But now, this is just a vague memory, one among many. I know not whether it was a mere second ago, or several years have passed.

All I know is that the same darkness still envelopes me, that same sense of elation still runs through my veins, and still, we haven't separated. Still locked in eternal embrace, our dance continues, and to this day, he still sits there, one knee over the other, wearing that same mysterious smile.

 _ **The girl, she was called 'Hope', the say,**_

 _ **to me it mattered not,**_

 _ **to me she was the dreams in which,**_

 _ **I'd long since gotten lost.**_

The girl, I don't remember her name. It could have been…Sakura? I forget. Instead, to me, she represents hope, she symbolizes Dreams, and aspirations.

 _ **And the man, his name was 'Truth', they say,**_

 _ **to me it mattered not,**_

 _ **to me he was reality,**_

 _ **of which I long forgot,**_

The man, his name was Sasuke, apparently. But to me, he's always been reality, watching, from a distance, as I danced with her.

But no, their names don't matter. It doesn't make a shred of difference.

All that matters is the three of us, me, him and her.

And to this day, Reality still watches on as I court my Dreams.

 _ **And many years have passed since then,**_

 _ **yet we still dance along,**_

 _ **in darkness where does no one see,**_

 _ **to the silent song,**_

 _ **Just the three of us alone,**_

 _ **amidst the quiet song,**_

 _ **and even as I court my Dreams,**_

 _ **Reality watches on,**_

 _ **Reality watches on.**_

* * *

 **End.**


	4. Lavandula

He looked down from his balcony. The well-designed platform was situated at a perfect height, not too high, yet not low enough to be bogged in by the other buildings. Turning, he flicked a switch on.

A dim light illuminated the front of his verandah, revealing a beautifully cured lawn, surrounded by a neatly structured border of various plants. Leaves barely twitching with the wind, the serene setting was indeed a stirring sight, one that would make anyone stop, stare and enjoy the little haven, before moving on.

Looking at him, one couldn't have pegged Hatake Kakashi to be the type to maintain such a neat and beautiful little garden at the back of his house. In fact, his colleagues swore that he was the very embodiment of laziness.

But if you could've seen Kakashi then, you would be proved wrong.

Staring at his garden for some time, he walked forward, cloaked by the dim yellow light. Bending, he flicked a dried leaf off of the grass before sighing and lying down placidly on the lawn. The small sharp grass seemed to tickle him for an instant before accepting him into its fuzzy embrace. Hands spread wide apart, lying down, Hatake Kakashi stared at the sky.

He was still dressed in casual clothes. A black t-shirt hugged his torso, and baggy brown pants seemed to be the 'in' thing.

Looking up, he shielded his eyes from the yellow light. He frowned, annoyed. He looked at the switch. It stared back at him, merciless and unyielding. He tried to use telekinesis. The switch seemed too strong against his psychic advances.

' _Oh. Wait.'_

Forming three quick hand seals, he brought two fingers to his lips, and blew in between the gap.

The jutsu seemed to work, as the small bullet of air propelled towards the switch met its mark, and once again, the darkness seemed to envelope him.

He sighed.

So many things had started happening. It was almost too fast to keep pace with. It felt good to lay back like this and relax, once in a while.

He didn't know how long he was lying down, but when the sky started taking on a lighter shade, he got up. It was still obviously early, yet it wouldn't do to lie back down again. Deciding as such, he stood up, walked inside.

Walking into his spotless bathroom, he leaned over the sink and looked at himself, through the mirror. His reflection stared back at him. His hair was slightly disheveled, and he could see the signs of a beard growing underneath his chin. Sighing, he pulled out the necessary tools to spruce himself up. Applying a generous amount of shaving cream on his lower jaws, he removed any hair on his face, before stepping into the shower.

The cold water stung at first, but soon hugged his body. Kakashi barely twitched, as he let the water flow over his skin. After all, this was an everyday routine, for Kakashi always loved the cold water. True, it was always unpleasant at first, but then it felt like heaven, once you got used to it.

Stepping out and drying himself, he put donned his standard apparel. The dark blue suit first, covering his torso, and all the way up to his cheeks, effectively shielding his mouth. He put on the standard Konoha flak jacket and patted himself once on the chest. The jacket was extremely supple, yet mysteriously durable. Reaching for his pouches, he latched them on at the right positions.

Last, he drew his Hitai-ite, and tied it, tugging it down gently so that it covered his eye.

Flexing his knuckles, he walked back out onto the verandah. With one last look at his garden, he leapt out through the opening, and into the gentle breeze that flitted its way through Konoha's still-deserted streets.

You see, Kakashi's garden was a matter of great interest among all the Jounins who'd come to his house.

The garden housed various plants, ranging from flowering, vegetables and even the odd crouton.

But, right in the center, enclosed by a dainty border stood a small plant, with lavender flowers. 'Lavandula', a plant not found commonly in Konoha had, in Kakashi's opinion, the most beautiful flowers of all.

Lavender, the very same color of the gentle paint on Rin Nohara's cheeks.


	5. Puppeteer

_Visualize it. Let your mind paint a picture for you._

* * *

 **\- Puppeteer -**

* * *

The curtains drew apart. All was dark, yet the lone light shone on a forlorn looking figure. She stood, quieter than a shadow, calmer than still water. Her eyes were open, yet there was nothing behind those emerald eyes. Her limbs were loose, shoulders hunched, neck slightly tilted.

If not for the music that slowly began to play, he doubted if the audience would have stayed to watch. A slow smile made its way onto his lips. He twitched a finger.

Neck still tilted, her lips stretched itself into the ghost of a smile, mirroring his own.

The crowd gasped.

He closed his eyes, taking in the surprise. He seemed to revel in it, if only for an instant.

Her image was burnt into his head. He didn't need to gaze at her to admire her mesmerizing eyes, her soft smile, the beauty of her dead, unmoving body; He simply needed to close his eyes.

Slowly, carefully, he moved. His fingers seemed to begin a slow dance. Her visage maintained the same smile, yet her body seemed to find life as it moved. First one limb…then the other. They moved in unison, his fingers and her.

The crowd watched her, mesmerized. Her movements were grace embodied, her dance was beauty itself. He laughed lightly. None could spy the lines that strung her. There was nary a twitch or jerk, so proficient was he in his art. In fact, so nimble were his fingers that the illusion was complete. It was a dance unto perfection. And that entailed he remain hidden. The crowd's gaze never left her, never looked up to see him. And that was what kept his fingers moving, the smile unwavering.

As the dance continued, one man, among many, couldn't avert his gaze. His eyes led the dance along with her, lighting up in excitement with every turn, every step. He was watching with bated breath, hoping against hope that her eyes would move, her eyes would move and fix her hauntingly beautiful gaze on him.

But it wasn't to be.

As he stood, and watched and watched and watched away, drinking in the sight, the man with the strings seemed to pay no heed. His eyes were closed, fingers moving away mechanically. And slowly, ever so slowly, he started slowing down. His mastery over her was impeccable.

The man in the crowd grew desperate, sensing the end of her dance arriving. He jostled unceremoniously, clamoring to reach the front row in a final desperate attempt to meet her lifeless gaze.

 _Smile_

And even as he did so, the music came to an end, her limbs stopped moving, and she came to rest in the position she'd started in, loose, neck tilted, albeit the smile was gone now.

The puppeteer had stopped smiling, his fingers resting easily atop the stage. The lights dimmed and faded. The crowd dispersed…all but for one man.

And so he fell, eyes brimming with tears, hands outstretched. His vision was starting to fade, swimming with his own tears. Her image, devoid of light, cold, lifeless was going to vanish…now…any second now…

 _She opened her eyes. Darkness…Darkness everywhere. And then slowly…ever so slowly, her feet came into view…then the wooden flooring of the stage. She moved, unaccustomed to the very act. Her gaze fell upon the lone man in the audience._

 _Smile_

The puppeteer stared, frozen in shock. As she moved, he yanked back the strings in alarm. To his undying fear, she put a step forward, and then the next.

 _Smile_

 _She reached out her hand. When she touched the hands of the man in the crowd, his eyes shot open, wonderment, fear, hope, a flurry of emotions danced across his face, before settling into one of a warm joy._

Even as she and the man in the crowd embraced, the puppeteer lay speechless. _The strings…the strings…where are they…where were they all along…were they…_

 _Were there strings to begin with._

And even as he watched them walk away, even as he gazed at his puppet for the first time, now with her eyes open, he felt an inexplicable feeling rise. He felt _yearning._

And it rose, and it raged inside him, it threatened to _explode_ , until slowly…until slowly…he felt his lids become heavy. He felt his limbs go loose. He looked up, ever so slowly. Even as he caught a fleeting glimpse of the visage of the person above him, his eyes closed.

The curtains drew apart. All was dark, yet the lone light shone on a forlorn looking figure. He stood, quieter than a shadow, calmer than still water. His eyes were open, yet there was nothing behind those brown eyes. His limbs were loose, shoulders hunched, neck slightly tilted.

 _Smile_

* * *

 **Leave your thoughts behind :)**


	6. This Day Again

**The story's events are traversed in a non-linear order. The sections in italics all move in reverse, taking place before the events of the intro. This one probably suffers from lack of a rather definitive setting. Fill in the gaps, as long as it isn't too wide ^.^"**

* * *

 **This Day Again**

* * *

They trudged up the hill, the two of them. The little girl showed not a hint of any discomfort, despite the rather sharp chill that danced in the wind. Dawn was arriving in its own time, yet there was nothing about her Grandpa choosing to take her for a walk just then that seemed odd to her.

As she let go of his hands to pull her sleeves _just_ a little bit closer, and rubbed her tiny hands, she couldn't resist the odd glance at the old, rather stoic man. He walked beside her in a measure pace, his eyes constantly looking ahead. She tried wearing the same expression and looking ahead the way he was, but only fell to the temptation of stealing another glance at him seconds later.

Grandpa was _big._ He was tall, and she was aware of it when his gaze fixed her, from above a rather regal jawline and a fearsome nose. Age had caught up to him, yet it seemed as if he wasn't running away from it. Instead, he was always walking, calmly. He was _lithe_ , clean-shaven and rather…she couldn't put her finger on it. Something about Grandpa had always made her tone go to a whisper, eyes wide and assume a story-teller's guise. There was _mystery_ shrouding old Grandpa. He'd visit often, yet never spoke much. She knew he enjoyed walks, and she knew Mum liked him lots too, though the two of them never spoke beyond a few sentences at a time.

"Hey, Grandpa? I'm gunna go up the hill and wait."

His eyes diverted, unblinking, to look at her. He nodded. "You do that, young lady."

She paused for a second, surprise flitting across her face. On another day, Grandpa might've simply nodded. To hear his rather smooth, quiet tone acknowledge her was always a _thing._

She smiled, before taking off on a run.

He stopped walking, standing, a hint of pain on his visage; A moment of reminiscence, as it threatened to crash down on him with the intent to destroy.

" _Fool."_

 _He was the one who spoke. His eyes were full of cold, empty intent as he fixed the younger man with a powerful gaze._

" _Fool who, old man? You twisted fucking degenerate, you-"_

 _The younger man didn't seem fazed, almost as if he'd seen the stare only too often, had been broken by it time and time again._

 _His eyes, on the other hand, seemed to dance with unparalleled fury. They never stayed still, taking in everything about the man who held him down._

" _Always the foul-mouthed brat. Shouldn't you watch your mouth?"_

 _The older man's calm exterior belied the intent with which his fist crashed down on his captive._

"… _you-AAAAAARGHMPH" He held the younger man down, and the fact that the captive could still writhe about was a testament to his enormous strength._

 _Pain, fury and hatred caressed him. He wanted to_ _ **destroy**_ _the old man atop him. He wanted to watch as he writhed in pain the way he was doing so now. Yet, beneath the haze of pain, he couldn't dodge the fear. It was drawing, ever so closer._

 _The end. The end. The end. The end. The end. The end._

 _Vaguely, he felt the man's palm close down over his neck._

" _The end, kid."_

 _It was typical of the man above him, he knew. Cold, remorseless…uncaring. He felt the emptiness behind the sunken eyes of the man. He felt those empty pools of cobalt stare at him for_ _ **just**_ _a second longer than they should have._

 _And that was enough for him, as a smile rose. "The end, old m-"_

 _Death came, swift._

* * *

 _They stood, alone._

 _The younger man spoke first._

" _You've won, haven't you? As you always do, every time, in your twisted head."_

 _The older man smiled, a mirthless scream._

" _You've no idea how much I hate you…hate that smile. You've no idea how badly I've wanted to see it break, how much I've wanted to break it myself…"_

 _The old man nodded calmly as he acknowledged his combatant's snarl. His movements seemed near robotic, as he unhooked his armor, letting it fall. He didn't need the protection. Not this time. Not against him._

" _You hypocrite. Twist it all, over and over and over again, in your own god-damn head, so that one day you can look back and know were right, always, isn't that it? I know you. I KNOW YOU. Ahhh, I'll know one thing before tonight ends, old man. I'll know that I saw more than you. I'll know that you could never,_ _ **never**_ _hope to understand me, and I'll know that you'll die one day, choked by your own myopic little view of how things are, you ignorant old-"_

 _They both leapt forward, as if they knew exactly what would happen._

* * *

 _A strange sensation seemed to grip his gut and tossed him, as he looked at the image on the screen._

 _This was it. This was the moment of decision. One last job, one last man to track and kill. One last life to snuff out, one view of the dark world around that he had to destroy._

 _Is it because they were fundamentally different, a killer and his mark? The enforcer of justice, and the criminal were, after all, part of the same system. One worked inside it, the other worked out. The predator was always shielded by the sense of right. He was tasked with the grand job of peacemaker, after all._

 _And yet…and yet…after all these years, he hated himself for it. It was a sensation that only lasted a second, but the doubt seemed to meld into his shadow a moment too long. He knew it would disappear soon. He knew that when dawn arrived, he'd be filled with satisfying emptiness again, that the void would play home for him like it always did._

 _Yet, right then, there was no sun of happiness he could hold onto. Not anymore. There was only the cold, unforgiving sense of justice. And to perceive that, he told himself, he must trust. Must trust, must trust, must trust…_

 _The litany played over and over in his head, as he tracked him down. Over and over._

* * *

 _He held her close. She was inconsolable._

" _He's gone…he's gone…he's gone…"_

 _He knew, yet he could do nothing. "He…he…what about my daughter? What about…what about…"_

 _He tried. He tried his hardest to cry as he held the young woman. She was only in her twenties, it was too young an age, he knew, to comprehend reality. If her husband had left…that meant…_

 _He tried. Yet he couldn't coerce the tears he knew he should be feeling._

 _He clutched the note tightly in his palm, reveling in the utter agony of loss and anger._

' _I see it. I see more than you. I see more than anyone. I am outside the system now. Let the game begin.'_

 _The note was scrawled in an untidy hand, and wasn't signed._

" _He's gone…he's gone…he's gone…"_

 _He finally felt the lone tear slide across his cheek, but the girl had already fainted out of exhaustion by then. The man had finally broken out of the system._

* * *

 _They trudged up the hill, the two of them. The little boy showed slight hints of discomfort, apparently not taking a liking to the rather sharp chill that danced in the wind. Dawn was arriving in its own time, and everything about a walk at that point in time annoyed him._

 _As he let go of his hands, he knew better than to voice his discomfort over it. Resigning that the old man was just incomprehensibly crazy, he walked. And even as he did so, he couldn't help stealing a glance._

 _He walked beside him in a measure pace, his eyes constantly looking ahead. The boy tried wearing the same expression and looking ahead the way he was, but only fell to the temptation of stealing another glance at him seconds later._

" _Hey, Dad? I'm gunna go up the hill and wait."_

 _Dad was big. He was tall, and he was aware of it when his gaze fixed him, from above a rather regal jawline and a fearsome nose. He was lithe, thin yet muscular. They shared the exact same blonde hair, yet his Dad's was tied back in a neat, calculated ponytail while his ran wild. Both their eyes seemed unimaginably blue, yet while his danced, here and there, always alive, his Dad's was fixed, as if experience had beaten all the enthusiasm out of the pleasure of being able to see. He was clean-shaven and rather…he couldn't put her finger on it. Something about Dad had always made him stand…made him want to be_ _ **amazing**_ _, so that one day he could see a sense of acknowledgment in those eyes. There was always mystery shrouding old Dad. He really couldn't see how Mum had_ _ **liked**_ _this grumpy old coot._

 _His eyes diverted, unblinking, to look at him. He simply nodded. The boy seemed to wait, as if expecting a word, but as the moment passed, so did his expectation._

* * *

"You're _finally_ here, Grandpa!"

He stood still, as the first rays of dawn crept across the sky, a hint of pink on a blanket of blue. Then, ever so slowly, his eyes focused on the little girl, staring at the sky in quiet awe. A thousand untold thoughts seemed to touch the corners of his mind, a thousand unsaid words of love and adoration and fear and apologies.

" _Hey dad? The boy stood still, not breaking his gaze from the sky. There was but a small distance between them._

 _It's beautiful,"_

"Grandpa?"

She stepped back to give him a shy hug. He could sense her blue eyes receding quickly and looking away towards the sky again, her blonde hair swaying ever so slightly with the wind.

"It's beautiful."

* * *

 **End.**


	7. A Thousand Hopes

**I am such a lazy piece of shit :P**

* * *

 **A Thousand Hopes**

* * *

 _Standing at the very edge,_

 _and staring at the ruin,_

 _as horizons rust and fade,_

 _testimony of our doing._

The man staggered, shaking mildly as he stood. Slowly, ever so slowly, he sat down. He stretched out his legs, and clenched his wrists, something, he found, always comforted him, ever since his childhood, long, long ago.

The sight in front of him rendered him speechless as he stared at it, the sheer beauty overwhelming.

 _Gazing at the tunnels of smoke,_

 _and crying over the ashes,_

 _all that's left of a thousand hopes,_

 _are wounds with thousand gashes._

The sky was ablaze in a wealth of scarlet and gold. It seemed like a painter's paradise, as the warm red tones lay strewn across the sky. And then, as the last arc of the sun finally dipped below the horizon, the colors descended into a cool, serene blue.

Uchiha Madara sighed, realizing he'd been holding his breath for over a minute.

 _Singing with a broken voice,_

 _the flower placed over the grave,_

 _birth of a future that scarce exists,_

 _a song for the past we crave._

He was alone. His faithful servant had left him, albeit temporarily, on his very orders. And even as Madara stared at the dark expanse of the forest in front of him, the song he'd heard as a child seemed to play in the far corner of his broken mind.

 _Holding on to memories,_

 _a time when the sun was bright,_

 _our smiles were warmer, laughter joyous,_

 _Hope wasn't our only light._

It was one he'd heard as a child. It was set to a rather calm, minor tune, one that seemed to represent sorrow, and memories of a brighter past. He remembered, vaguely, the feeling that had gripped his stomach, the tightness, as he sunk to his knees, and the elders sang on, in front of his brother.

His brother had laid motionless, oblivious to Uchiha Madara's pleas, implorations, to wake, to open his eyes and smile.

 _Drinking in the final rays,_

 _in the silence of the dawn,_

 _as the darkness closes in,_

 _the shards of light shine on._

He remembered the voices, warm, with unsuppressed emotion. The women stood too, some of them betraying the odd tear that left their cheeks and hit the ground.

He never cried. He remembered feeling empty, as they carried his brother away.

The song had ended long ago, with the elders' voice cracking and slowly fading away. He was the only one left there, alone, on his knees. And yet, he still heard the tune, sung in a powerful, strong voice that seemed to galvanize him, sending his heart-beat up.

 _But now the dreams have long since ceased,_

 _and nightmare has begun,_

 _defeat adorns our broken faces,_

 _our final verse is sung._

The grief was his own. The loss was his own. The agony, his own. The suffering, his own.

The voice, his own, a lone, broken voice singing the final verses of a song that hadn't been completed by the elders.

 _Standing at the very edge,_

 _we watch the petals dance,_

 _even as it wilts and fades,_

 _we lose our final chance,_

And in the present, Uchiha Madara stood, still staring at the sky intently. He'd lived long enough to notice when change came over the horizon. It soared majestically into the blue twilight, leaving behind the shattered pieces of the past.

Landing, it spontaneously rose into flames, burning down the present, and creating momentary chaos. Only momentary, though. After all, when the brilliant flames had decimated all semblance of the present, it would only rise from its own ashes, giving rise to the future.

Uchiha Madara could also see the phoenix of change land, right here, in front of him, making the rebirth of the world imminent.

And then, suddenly, he returned to the still darkness of that night. There was no phoenix, no change, no brilliant light.

Just him, alone.

 _And gazing at the tunnels of smoke,_

 _smoldering over the fires,_

 _all that's left of a thousand hopes,_

 _are a thousand funeral pyres._

* * *

 **End.**


End file.
